This Side Up
by DefyingPhysix
Summary: A Hollow Fields fanfiction. The exciting but rather pointless misadventures of one Mr. Archibald Croach- who knew grave robbing would have such side effects? CroachxRicketts, slightly.
1. 1: Stopping the Leak

_*Hollow Fields is property of Miss Madeline Roska, whom I'm sure could totally school me on any number of things._

Chapter 1: Stopping the Leak

You don't need muscles, veins, or skin to know what pain feels like. Or, more for the matter, what it _sounds_ like.

The whirrs and clicks skip a little. The respirator tanks labor, in the chest cavity. And the joints creak and grind in a sorry way.

Archibald Croach couldn't hear the groans of his own mechanical body over the screeching and swaying of his leaky home, and the tremendous wind and lightening outside. But it didn't move as much, when he laid in the middle of the floor. The most of it was the slurred blur of the oil glazing his eyes. Already the bandages around his ailing joints were dark and sticky, with the inky stuff, and he had a vague suspicion that-

Croach rolled onto his side to cough a bit and spit unheedingly, grimacing as he settled back into his sprawled position, his fingers twitching in his boredom against the floorboards. His eyes were slowly easing shut when there was a sharp _crack!_, reviving his senses immediately, "Ah, crap…"

xXx

The rumbling crunch of crumbling stone was hardly verbal, over the sounds of the storm, and Stinch would have paid it no mind, if Miss Notch had not stopped him with a gentle touch to the shoulder, "Stinch, what was that?"

Stinch paused in his hallway rumblings to listen, "…Sneaking student squirts?" he offered.

Notch shook her head, her delicate footfalls leading her to the window, where she used a lacy handkerchief to smudge away a clear spot in the condensation, on the ancient windowpane, "It came from outside- goodness!" she exclaimed as Stinch lumbered his way over, "It looks like the storm was too much for Mr. Croach's house! It's fallen in- how terrible!"

Stinch's beady eyes roamed the distant wreckage for a few moments, and he couldn't help but think that the south graveyard appeared _nicer_, without the shack, "…Should we do something?"

"Mr. Croach has no classes, on Tuesday night- he had to be inside! We have to help him, he must be trapped!" Miss Notch hurried away to call her steam drones, and Stinch issued a shrug, lumbering after her.

xXx

"Mr. Croach?!" Miss Notch called, traversing the crumbled stonework as Stinch held her umbrella over her, "Are you there? Mr. Croach!"

"You're standing on my leg, ingrate!" Came a loud, snapping tone, and Notch stepped back. Croach struggled amidst the rubble, his fingertips just gracing the wooden handle of his spade as he struggled for it, his heavy breath fogging in the icy downpour.

"Mr. Croach!" Notch exclaimed, "You're leaking-"

"Valve oil, I know!" He growled, at last tugging his shovel to him. He wedged it beneath the heavy stone atop his chassis, beginning to pry himself free.

Notch gripped the heavy burden, flinging it away effortlessly, "We have to get you to nurse Ricketts right away!"

"Bah," Croach grumbled, unenthusiastic as steam wheezed through a crack in his chest plate, escaping the tatters of his musty robes.

"Notch beckoned a drone, "Go and tell nurse Ricketts to ready the infirmary immediately!" She commanded, and the steaming contraption whizzed away.

"So much for the 'provincial' look," Croach frowned as Stinch gathered up his limp and incomplete form, "Don't drool on me, you smelly bag of stitches! And Don't forget my legs, useless girl!"

"You want Stinch for to shut him up, Miss Notch?" Stinch offered.

"Sounds like a plan," Notch chirruped happily.

Stinch closed his massive mouth around Croach's head, and his angry and disgusted cries were muffled as Notch flicked the back of his ear.

xXx

Croach could remember the first time the thought had really sunk in- that he was getting a new body. He supposed, back then, this all seemed like a good idea.

"Archibald Croach Jr.?" Someone had questioned cheerfully.

"Archibald Croach _the second_," He had snapped in correction. But his embitterment and sharp tone had stilled as he had spotted _her_.

"My apologize, sir. I am nurse Ricketts, and I have a few questions to ask," She had smiled, entering the room with a clipboard and pen.

"Questions about what?"

"Your replacement body, silly. Now, I must encourage your complete honesty, in your answers, for your body to feel as natural as the one you have now." He had tried to avoid staring as she had reached to a high shelf, retrieving a blood pressure cuff.

"Okay," he replied, a bit stupidly.

Her fingers were the thrilling chill of a surgeon, as she plucked up his sleeves, situating the cuff, "Good, then we can get started. What are you teaching, Mr. Croach?"

"Ah- dead things," He managed,. Her hair smelled like books, and her touch did not sicken him.

Ricketts laughed, "Dead things?"

"Grave robbing, embalming, and live taxidermy," He stammered in explanation.

"It's good to be helping the children, isn't it?" Ricketts smiled, removing the cuff and jotting down the numbers on her clipboard, "I mean, we're going to be shaping the next generations… the future… it's pretty amazing, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"I've read some of your thesis, Mr. Croach- pretty impressive. I have to admit, without some of the work you've done, I doubt that much of my work would be possible…" She pulled apart the buttons of his shirt, and Croach had to physically still himself from encircling her waist with his arms.

Ricketts pressed the cold disk of a stethoscope to his chest, listening silently, "Strong heart," she murmured, turning to her clipboard, "Your pulse is high, though. Breathing is good- you've taken pretty good care of yourself, haven't you?"

"I-I guess."

"It says here that you're thirty-four and unmarried."

"And single," Croach blurted.

Ricketts smiled at him, "Yes. You have no history of alcohol or substance abuse, but it says here that you smoke."

"Cigars," he explained.

"Indeed." She paused, reading over something and glancing at him. She hid her chuckle, shaking her head, and Croach frowned.

"What?" he asked flatly.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just notes that miss Weaver left."

"Old spider," Croach grumbled. He exclaimed as she pressed a hand to the side of his face.

"Your temperature is a little high. But it's understandable, you don't like being touched," Ricketts took another note, "Okay. Now, I'm going to need you to strip, so I can take some measurements."

"Wh-what?" Croach stammered.

"I'm a nurse, it's nothing I haven't seen before," Ricketts mused casually.

"I doubt it," he replied, and set to removing his shirt.

xXx

He awoke to pressure escaping his lungs in an explosive fit of coughs.

"Good!" Ricketts said cheerfully, "His tanks are back up to proper PSI!"

"Brilliant, nurse!" Notch added brightly.

"Mr. Croach, are you awake?" Ricketts questioned, pulling away her operating mask as she stowed the bicycle pump below the gurney.

"What do you think, you quack?!" He snapped, wheezing as he blinked his watering eyes. Notch leaned over his bed, tugging the sheets up to his neck. He glared, and pushed them back to his waist, grunting as he attempted to rise.

"Keep still, Archibald," came a dark tone, and Eleanor Weaver suddenly loomed at his bedside, "Your respirator tanks have yet to find the cause of your apparent… leaking."

"How about 'this body is tin scraps', eh?" Croach hissed, slumping back down on his pillow. Notch attempted to tuck him in again, and he simply growled at her, and she retreated, "In any case, it doesn't matter. You fill out your end of the bargain, and I can cease clanking around in this dismal state."

"That's just it, Archie- your body is in much worse condition than the others-"

"Perhaps you should have considered that before you sent me out to live with the dogs!" Croach hissed. "Where are my legs?!" He demanded, and Notch flinched.

"Blame me all you like, Archibald, but it wasn't my fault entirely-" Weaver started.

"I don't blame anyone! And don't flatter yourself, Weaver- you weren't the only idiot to believe in this stupid idea…" But hell- there's no going back now. I'd like to stumble about in my pathetic state without the burden of your false, simpering concerns, thank you very much!"

Weaver was quiet as her dark eyes began to burn, "You are correct, Archibald. My concern for you is not genuine, you bitter zombie bastard." She turned to Notch, "Miss Notch. Please cancel all of Mr. Croach's classes until further notice."  
"What?!" Croach demanded.

Weaver smiled slyly, "We can't have you out risking yourself to further degradation, can we? If you die, Archie, this institution will crumble. If the rest of the staff sees you in this state, they will become aware of just how long they have waited- we will have a full-scale riot, on our hands. I cannot risk that, not now." She turned away from him, "Until then, rest well, Archibald."

"Black Widow," Croach hissed after her, as Ricketts began to clear away the gears and bolts.

xXx


	2. 2: Prisoner of the Ward

2. Prisoner of the Ward

Stinch had never understood the importance of flowers- they appeared to him only as dead plants that stunk up the place and eventually wilted.

As he shuffled along with a bunch of daisies in one of his pointed hands, he realized that they reminded him of Mr. Croach.

Stinch kicked the base of the gurney, and Croach looked up from glaring at a spot of sun on his blanket, seeming to accent the fact that his legs were still missing, "Whadda ya want, you over-grown knapsack?"

"From Miss Notch," Stinch replied, holding up the flowers. Croach frowned as Stinch poked the daisies into a jar of preserved eyeballs at the foot of the bed.

"Bah," Croach complained.

"From Stinch," Stinch said, holding up a dusty wooden box.

Croach chuckled darkly, "Bah."

Stinch shuffled over to take a seat at his bedside, opening the box to offer a cigar. Croach selected one, muttering, "Have one with me."

They were silent as Croach puffed the cigar over a candle, and Stinch took a large bite of his own cigar, chewing it sloppily. Croach let out a long, slow exhale, ending with a sigh.

"Stinch wants to know what to do with Mr. Croach's house," Stinch said.

"Bah, don't worry about it," Croach grumbled, folding his arms behind his head as he leaned back against the headboard, 'I guess the students will learn to build a house when I get back, huh?" He laughed, and his laugher hardened into raspy coughing. At last they sputtered to a halt, and he took another pull of his cigar, "What I mean to say is that I'll clean it up later, Stinch."

Stinch nodded, taking another bite. They were silent again, Stinch slurping noisily.

"Get some cards, Stinch, we'll play-"

"Stinch has to get back to work," Stinch said, rising as he finished his cigar, "Miss Weaver will get angry, if Stinch isn't around to poke the kiddies with his crook,"

"Bah. Crony old monster. See you around, Stinch," Croach said, flicking his ashes into a sleeping student's water glass. He paused, "Do me a favor?"

Stinch fidgeted, "Stinch can't-"

"Get me my legs, Stinch."

"But, Miss Weaver-"

"Get me my legs, Stinch, or that old bat's punishment will _tickle_, compared to mine."

xXx

Ricketts could hear the quiet clattering of tool work from her office, and paused from grading her student's midterms to listen. Under the gentle sound of delicate work at hand, she could hear secretive muttering. Ricketts rose from her seat at her desk, avoiding a rather bitey project she had been working on (a new, improved, and apparently _angry_ breed of manitcore) to creep into the darkened infirmary.

Croach worked a ratchet at his kneecap, muting his horrible coughing with his sleeve. Ricketts sighed, moving silently past the other, empty in the ward toward his one candle, "Archibald, what are you doing?" She asked tiredly.

He looked up, seeming guilty at first. Then, his guilt turned to angry justification, "What does it look like I'm doing, stitch mistress?! I'm putting my legs back on, as it seems that everyone else here seems entirely content to leave me to the rats!"

"You know Miss Weaver will be upset," Ricketts reasoned, finding a seat on the side of his gurney as he ignored her, returning to his work. "Besides, you're not in good condition anyways. I still can't find what's causing that horrible coughing-"

"Can it! Anything you do is just under the scrutiny of that Viper! You couldn't care less about helping me, Lynn-!" He stopped suddenly.

"You called me Lynn, Archie," Ricketts pointed out softly, "You haven't called me Lynn in years. Decades, even."

"Bah. My memory must be as worn out as the rest of me, then," Croach grumbled, grabbing for a screwdriver at his side table. His hand missed, sending the implement clattering to the floor. He hissed a curse.

Ricketts shook her head, stooping to retrieve it, "I do care about you, Archie-"

"Bah!"

"--But you know that Eleanor-"

"Eleanor!" Croach snapped, "Always about that conniving vixen! What she thought, what she wanted! That's how we ended up like this!" He glared at her for a moment, then blinked, clarifying, "That's how all of us ended up like this!"

Ricketts smiled sadly, handing over the screwdriver, "Of course, Archie."

"Unbelievable," He huffed, returning his concentration to his leg, "Go away."

"Archie-"

"I said go!"

"Archie, you're putting your leg on backward," Ricketts said flatly, snagging the tools out of his hands, "let me do it." And she set to work repairing his misplaced kneecaps, "You're a genius, when it comes to the reanimation of dead tissue, but when it comes to anything even remotely living, you're like a babe in the woods…"

They were silent as she worked.

"Lynn?"

"What is it, Archie?"

"What did _you_ think?"

Ricketts chuckled, "You're older now, Archie- back then, I don't think you would have ever uttered a question like that without your head falling off."

"Well, my legs…" Croach reasoned with half-humor.

"I thought you were irritating and distant," Ricketts replied, crimping a rivet, and his ankle twitched, "And myopic. And obsessive. But I also thought I loved you for it."

"…Oh."

They were quiet again for a few more minutes, until Rickets finished re-attaching his legs, "You haven't changed much, Archibald. Nothing around here changes much, in any case. Now go on, get out of here- but take it easy."

He gathered his things, and slipped to the door of the ward, and kicked himself to comment, "See ya 'round, Lynn."

She smiled, "Take care, Archie."

xXx


End file.
